


The Opposite of Love

by illwynd



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Bottom Thor, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Somnophilia, Time Travel, Top Loki, Warning: Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illwynd/pseuds/illwynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitter and angry at Thor, Loki goes back in time to when he was an easier target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is porn with very little plot. Please heed the warnings. 
> 
> Also, my gratitude to the wise and generous [Lise](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteLise/pseuds/MorteLise), who inspired this fic (and whose time-travelling jerk Loki fic I still hope to read someday), reassured me about it, and helped with the ending. 
> 
> Also also, Thor is the Asgardian equivalent of 18 or thereabouts, in case you're wondering.

 

Loki arrived in this time with a sigh, coalescing out of the air right by Thor’s bed where he slept undisturbed, and staring down at his form—chest rising and falling slowly, smacking his lips in his sleep, ribbons of blond on the pillow in disarray—feeling how different it all was, and how familiar.

This Thor was still a spoiled brat of a prince, swept about on winds of anger and ego. In his own time, Loki was still punishing a wiser, humbler, soberer Thor for this boy’s actions. It was only fitting that he go back to the source.

Loki loomed over the bed, frowning.

This was indeed a _boy_ , though he hadn’t thought so at the time—just reaching manhood, still fresh-faced and naive. Long, lean, strong limbs, and still just enough softness to his face to make him look sweet, or foolish.

Loki also took a moment to glance around the room, looking over his shoulder at the other bed on the other side of the chamber (and it was strange to recall that they had shared a bedroom even to such an age)—but Loki remembered well that this night that bed would remain empty for some time yet.

He knew the whereabouts of his own younger self—certainly not without youthful flaws as well, petty and stupid in his retaliations, directing them with little aim and less insight, no matter how clever he thought he was. And Loki remembered that on this night, he had waited until Thor was asleep and then sneaked away on his own personal errand, and he was just at this moment concealed within Sif’s bedchamber, standing over her sleeping form, his shadow long and dark, his breast full of bitter rage.

So it was fitting that he be here now, with the same old tricks up his sleeve.

That was also how he knew he would not be interrupted in what he was about to do _here_.

Loki murmured a spell under his breath as he reached out to brush a lock of blond off Thor’s brow, and he watched as the boy’s body relaxed even deeper into his slumber, all the tension going out of him, face smoothing over.

When he lifted one wrist, held it in the pinch of his fingers and released it, it fell limply back to the pillow, and Thor did not so much as shift or stir.  

_Good._

*

Thor did not yet sleep nude at this age, but after Loki drew down the covers, bunching them at the foot of the bed, it was a momentary gesture to remove the nightshirt and breeches, leaving Thor’s body bare.

Then Loki let himself feast on the sight of Thor lying with arms up in surrender, fists loosely curled. And he took his time taking in the feel and the smell and the taste of him.

Running his hands down the young thunder god’s naked body, heart in his throat and a burning coal beneath it—it was hard not to remember the last time he’d seen this boy.

When Loki was still young and stupid, it had all been a tangle of confusion, his envy and jealousy and unfulfilled needs wrapping around all the things he felt for his brother until he could no longer tell what was at the core of it. Not until he was older had he understood that it was _hate_ , and he felt it again now as he stroked his hands along perfect, long, graceful limbs, his mouth going dry at the tenderness of him. A boy at the cusp of manhood, the little golden hairs downy under his fingertips.

Loki hated him furiously. That was why he had come to this time, to slake his need in the cruelest way.

Bending over his slumbering body, Loki peered close at him, breath catching, and that hatred boiled within him. He couldn’t tear his hands or his eyes away, fingers walking all over Thor’s form. Touching his sleeping face, tracing the delicate edges of his eyelids, and they did not so much as flutter. Loki rubbed his fingers against Thor’s soft, slackened lips, smearing a bit of drool onto his cheek.

Loki couldn’t resist bending even lower to press his own mouth to the center of Thor’s golden chest and remaining there to breathe him in.

He had waited long enough for this.

“I wish you could know what I’m doing to you,” he said quietly as he stripped away his own garments and crawled onto the bed, stretching out against young Thor’s body, reveling in the touch of naked skin on skin. Lifting his hand to Thor’s face again—his beautiful, naive, hated face—turning it as if to make Thor listen. Murmuring with intensity right against Thor’s cheek, brushing it with his lips. Voice low and stilted from little jolts of anticipation.

“I’m going to fuck you, Thor, and you will live out the rest of your years never knowing that your enemy had you when you were too young and helpless to resist me. I’m going to do this to you, and I’m going to enjoy it. I wish you could know that.”

*

It was a punishment.

Loki was doing this to punish his brother. To punish _this boy_ specifically, who he had adored and resented for centuries. Loki had come to this time to punish him, here and now, for all his foolishness and arrogance, for all the misery his own young, stupid self had suffered in his presence. For all the confusion, the nights of agony, the listless days.

He was doing this for himself and for the idiot currently clutching a lock of Sif’s hair and completely unable to anticipate what would come of it, the furious storm of Thor’s anger, being shoved up against a wall and shouting back, fists clenched at his sides, while Thor raged at him. Lacking the foresight to see what would come in the months afterward, when his brother would shun his company completely, looking through him as if he were not there, turning on his heel and walking the other way when Loki entered a room. The outrage that would fill him at the unfairness of it, at being treated that way for taking his own quite justified vengeance.

He hadn’t had the sense to care about that as he did it. But he would find he cared deeply when it happened. And that had been the start of _something_ , something that led _here,_  to his existence in this bedroom.

And led to him manipulating Thor’s sleeping body, turning him onto his side and hitching his leg up, bent at the knee. Spitting on his fingers and rubbing them against the vulnerable little entrance he had bared, between fleshy globes. And then simply straddling Thor’s other leg, lining himself up, and taking him.

Thor was so deeply asleep that the only reaction to being skewered was a quiet moan and a brief motion of his hips, trying to move away before Loki locked his arms around him, pinning him in place as he worked his cock deeper, fucking him in rough little thrusts, slipping inside by inches. The sound of his own heavy panting was loud in the silence of the room. Warm breath buffeting back against him from damp skin. And then he was fully inside, the inside of Thor’s body hot and tight around him, and just the triumph of being buried within him was so good it made him gasp.

It was a strange contradiction: his boiling, seething fury at his brother and the prickling pleasure of taking him unawares. Stealing such a victory over him rather than trying to win it by force. Having Thor beneath him, placid and beautiful and unable to fight back.

That in itself was new, strange.

Even before they were enemies, they had never known anything but struggle between them. So now, having him limp and helpless—there was such great pleasure just in that, being able to push Thor’s limbs where he wanted, meeting no resistance at all when he shoved Thor’s knee higher and plunged deeper inside. Such great pleasure in being in complete control, running his hands all over Thor’s body, touching him as he never would have wanted to be touched, enjoying the softness of his sleep and the knowledge of how much Thor would hate this if he knew.

But like this he could do whatever he liked and Thor could not make a single move to stop him, could not pout or complain or rage…

Loki bent low and kissed his neck in a willful parody of tenderness. Nuzzled against his ear. Told him true things from a liar’s tongue. “Right now your brother is in Sif’s chamber with shears and a black heart, hurting her because he wants to hurt you,” he whispered.

One of Loki’s most vivid memories of that night was of feeling somehow unclean as he did it—touching her while she lay under this same sleeping spell, merely moving her to prop her limp torso and lolling head against the headboard so he could get at the rest of her hair. Nothing more than that. But all of it had felt like he was doing something wretched to her. It had thrilled and revolted him at once, making his stomach flip and churn.

This was so much worse of a crime, so much greater of a violation. And it felt so much better as he did it, possessing Thor so tenderly, forcing his slumbering body to open, finding the deepest heat within. Gazing in enthralled fascination at the way his form was jostled as Loki thrust secretly and silently within him. Having him in a way that no one else would ever know.

“So while he’s doing that, I’m going to give you the good, deep fucking you deserve, brother,” he murmured. “Just so you know how I feel about you.”

And Loki did so, in a steady rhythm, nose behind his ear to indulge in as much of Thor’s scent as he could get. He even somehow _smelled_ young and foolish, in a way that made Loki’s mouth water, made him wish he could do this again, that it were not such a dangerous expenditure of his energies to make the walk between their two times.

All the things he could do to his brother while he slept, all the fun he could have humiliating Thor without his ever knowing.

*

Loki didn’t notice that Thor was waking until it was already too late.

It was his own fault, lost in his fantasies of doing this to Thor every night, even though the spell should not have broken and he should not have _had_ to worry about such a thing happening. But Thor always had to spoil all his plans, of course.

Loki didn’t notice the subtle signs until Thor stiffened beneath him, a confused sound in the back of his throat as he tried to move and found himself pinned, and then a louder one as he realized he was speared.

It was definitely too late then, but Loki did not even try to prevent it, a thrill coursing through him, a smirk yanking at his lips.

Yet another battle between them, but this time it was Thor who was at a horrible disadvantage. This time it was Thor who would inevitably lose.

Loki had his hand across Thor’s mouth before Thor could think to yell, and he had all his limbs locked around Thor’s body so that when he began to thrash, it was hopeless, no matter how strong he was.

And Thor was strong, despite his youth, all straining muscles and furious shouts trying to burst from his chest while Loki held him fast. He tried to bite and yell, but Loki bore the scrape of teeth against his palm while his other hand, quick as a serpent, rose to wrap around Thor’s throat and squeeze, tightening his grasp and threatening to crush when Thor still did not give in, squirming and struggling gloriously beneath him.

Thor was forever so foolish as to not give in until it was blatantly obvious that he had been beaten, and at this age he was at his worst. Arrogant and stubborn and stupid. Loki remembered that all too well, and all the grief he’d suffered from it.

“You’re sleeping,” Loki snarled into his ear when he finally stilled, lying stiff and vibrating with tension as if he might try again any moment. “This is a dream.”

Having Thor awake beneath him, face half pressed against the mattress, eyes wild, body tense with pain and outrage… Loki’s heart was racing and he could not resist pushing his hips against him in a few more rough thrusts, feeling the reaction that brought on. He was only interrupted by the two short, unmistakable syllables that tried to force their way past Thor’s throat.

“Yes,” he answered with a hint of a dark laugh. “It’s me. You’re dreaming of me doing this to you. Now, are you going to let me finish?”

Another attempt at speech, unrecognizable this time. Loki hardly cared.

“I’m the product of your subconscious, Thor. Fighting me won’t make me go away.”

Loki could feel how rapidly Thor breathed, could feel the tension in his body, could feel him struggling within himself over whether something that felt so real could be a dream, and what he could do about it if it were.

“You’re the one dreaming this, after all. It’s nothing to do with me. Maybe you want it,” Loki added with another smirking bump of his hips, and that got a sharp gasp and a wriggle, and a tensing that—if Loki knew his brother at all—meant another round of thrashing and yelling was coming in a moment, no matter how irrational it was.

In the space of a breath, before he could change his mind, Loki whispered the spell again and Thor’s body relaxed once more, sinking down with a long, deep sigh until he was entirely still.

Loki chuckled with the release of tension.

“Is that better, you brat? Never say I’ve never done anything for you,” he said, giving Thor’s abused throat a momentary massage with his fingertips before letting go finally.

But his cock was all the harder for their brief struggle, and the feel of Thor’s limp body beneath him was newly delightful.

In their struggle, he had wrestled Thor fully onto his belly, and now Loki pushed back onto his hands, admiring the way Thor’s buttocks squished when he thrust against them, and began plowing him in earnest.

It was the way he had wanted every battle between them to be, the sweetness of his own victory and Thor’s defeat, of knowing Thor could not resist him, of finally being the powerful one and being able to do whatever he wished to him, without worry or qualm. All of Loki’s hatred sang at the sight of Thor’s muscled back beneath him, still so young, shoulders not as broad as they one day would be, and the tangle of blond where sleep and Loki had made a mess of him, all so maddeningly beautiful and right now entirely under his power, his whim.

But then, the oddest thing.

This time, as Loki continued to fuck his sleeping brother in long, firm strokes, Thor did not remain wholly unresponsive. Instead he began to shift just a little, an uncoordinated, sleepy motion, stilted breaths, his body tensing and relaxing again and again. At first Loki assumed it must be from discomfort, or perhaps Thor had begun truly to dream. Perhaps his brief awakening had segued into nightmare. Loki tilted his head as he watched.

When Thor began to whimper, though, quietly and sporadically, it didn’t seem like it was from pain or fear. Loki drove deep, and it wrung the same soft sound from Thor’s slack mouth, his face turned against the pillow, the boyish, sulking brow twitching. And Loki still wasn’t sure what it meant, only that he liked it. Getting some reaction out of Thor even while he lay there sleeping, unknowing.

And then all at once Thor was trembling all over, his whole slack body twitching and shaking. It seemed to last forever, and it was all through him, the pulsing quakes clenching around Loki’s prick, a series of breathy whimpers pushed from his lungs.

Loki stared down in shock.

“Did you just…?” he asked the air, expecting no answer, and on desperate impulse snaked his hand beneath Thor’s body to find—yes, his cock softening, sticky wetness seeping into the cloth  beneath it.

Loki gasped, insides going tight as he realized that this spoiled boy he had felt so much misery over, this naive, foolish young thunder god, had just _come_ from being fucked. From Loki forcing himself on his sleeping body.

Not able to hold back a moment longer, he pounded hard and fast against the delicious softness of Thor’s ass, the soft slap of skin obscene in the silence, until he poured his own seed deep with a harsh, shuddering breath.

Afterward, Loki pulled out only reluctantly.

It was a few minutes’ work to put everything to rights in the room, to sigh and brush a hand down Thor’s bare skin, whispering a healing spell so no aches and twinges where he was used would trouble him when he woke and alert him that it had been more than a dream. To replace the nightclothes on his body, and the covers atop them. To finger-comb his hair into some rough order, and crouch down at the bedside to gaze at his face for another moment.

Thor’s brow was twisted, troubled. He looked bereft, as if in the middle of a terrible, lonesome nightmare.

Loki felt himself huff a breath out his nose, and he continued to pet Thor’s hair for longer than was strictly necessary.

“I really do hate you, you know,” he murmured.

And then in another moment, Loki was gone, dissolving into the shadows.

*

A few minutes later, the other, younger Loki returned, slipping silently through the doorway, heart still racing from his exploits, a faint clinging scent of burnt hair about him.

He was still breathing hard as he kicked off his boots and quickly stripped off his clothes—the danger of Thor waking up while he was still dressed at this hour would bring down suspicion upon him, and he couldn’t allow that—and only by the time he’d shrugged his own nightshirt over his shoulders did he begin to relax.

But the loss of the rush of what he’d done left a hollowness in its place. A bitter longing. A feeling that what he’d done hadn’t fixed anything at all.

The bitter feeling made him antsy, and he crossed again to the little table to try to silently fill a cup from the pitcher kept there when a sound broke through the darkness.

Thor’s voice, whispering his name. The sound of bedclothes shifting as Thor sat up in bed. In the dark of the room, Loki could see only the dim outline of his form, but he also did not really try, keeping his eyes averted.

What he’d done should have made him stop feeling like this. It should have.

“Loki,” Thor said again.

“What?” Loki whispered back.

Thor didn’t speak right away. When he did, he sounded strange. “Were you here just a moment ago?”

Loki tried not to startle, tried not to seem guilty. “I was in bed asleep a moment ago, if that’s what you mean. I just got thirsty.”

Thor said nothing, but Loki heard him breathing, fast and noisy.

“Why do you ask?”

“... no reason,” Thor muttered, and then the blankets rustled as he moved, lying back and turning onto his side, perhaps to face away from Loki.

And perhaps it was his own heart still pounding from his exploits, but all at once Loki was furious, though he held it clenched in his fists. “No, Thor, why? Tell me.”

Thor huffed and pulled his pillow over his head. “Sleeping,” he said, petulant and muffled.

Loki set down his cup, strode over to Thor’s bed, and yanked the pillow away. Thor reached to yank it back, only for Loki to release it too soon, sending him flopping awkwardly back. He rose onto his elbows again, and Loki could see the scowl upon his face. Loki reached out again…

And that time Thor batted his hand away roughly, rougher than Loki expected. “Leave me be,” Thor growled with finality.

The flames of fury burned hotter, and being _ordered_ did not improve matters. Stubbornly, Loki folded his arms and kicked at the footboard of Thor’s bed, just to be perverse. “No,” he hissed. “Tell me what you think I was doing a moment ago that would have anything to do with you.”

“So you _were_ doing something,” Thor shot back.

Loki snarled. “What do you mean to accuse me of?”  

A frustrated groan, and a further attempt to bury his head under his pillow, now held tightly against theft. “Nothing! Now go away and leave me alone!”

That time, Loki did, with deceptive calm.

The fires roared and blazed as he went and fetched the cup he’d filled, then returned to his own bed, mechanically climbed in, pulled the covers over himself.

He could still feel his own heart thumping anxiously. The events of the last hour or two were dreamlike in his mind, less real than the blanket-covered lump on the other bed in the darkness across the room, breathing raspy breaths.

He had wanted the revenge he deserved. He had wanted to feel like he was not always doomed to lose. He had wanted…

“I had a nightmare,” Thor’s voice broke the silence, just above a whisper, voice low and unsettled and just a little apologetic. “I wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming.”

Loki glanced over into the other side of the dark room. “It’s alright, brother. Go back to sleep.”

Thor did, or at least seemed to.

Loki lay awake for quite some time, thinking about the morning and what would happen when his deed was revealed, and all the things he thought he would feel after taking his vengeance and all the things he felt now instead. The stubborn ache in his jaw and the nauseous feeling like something sticky on his skin, as if something had gone wrong, though he could not have said what.

Just before he at last fell asleep, mind wandering, he wondered what Thor’s nightmare had been.

*

Loki returned to his own time with a sigh.

Exhaustion had set in, due—he told himself—mostly to the effort it had taken to pass through time twice in one evening. And it _had_ taken a great deal out of him, enough that he had returned not precisely to the same place he started, necessitating a bit of more ordinary travel at the end.

By the time he passed through his own door, the door of his lair out in the far reaches of the realms, it was more than exhaustion, and he could not have said at all what it had become, except that it took hold of him and squeezed tight as his fist had around Thor’s throat.

He now and then caught whiffs of Thor’s scent and realized it still clung to him.

Whatever it was squeezed tighter, almost painful.

Being near to Thor again—that boy who Thor had been, the one who had made Loki so miserable, who had driven him to his wits’ end, driven him to do the things he’d done that started the war between them—Loki hadn’t realized what it would be like. He hadn’t thought of what would happen afterward when that brief moment was gone again.

Curled up, laughing like a mad, wretched thing, hand across his mouth, Loki missed him desperately, and he knew—or suspected—what would come of this night’s whim, and he could not make himself care, and he laughed all the harder at the knowledge that _that boy_ would simply hit something if he felt like this, thoughtless and destructive and foolish and _glorious,_ and Loki envied him even now.

After an embarrassingly long time, he sobered.

He’d gone back because he hated Thor, and it was vengeance. He’d punished that younger version of Thor for everything he’d done and would do. He’d done so, and he was glad of it, and he was glad he was home again now. If he wished he had not returned, it was only because he had not yet got his fill and perhaps never could.

He hated Thor, and it was vengeance. That was all.

***

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tasteless Haze](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14571660) by [TentacleVamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TentacleVamp/pseuds/TentacleVamp)




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